Camellia sinensis
by csfcsf
Summary: Of all the times Sherlock had used the expression "it's for a case" this definitely wasn't one of the worst... A potted tea plant makes an appearance at 221B. This is the starting point for a Sherlock, John and Lestrade case, short and light-hearted.
1. The case

_**Camellia sinensis**_

**_._**

'It's a plant', John literally pointed at it, with a suspicious frown. Suspicious at what it was doing centre stage at 221B's living room that is, the waist high plant in a vase looked harmless enough as it was.

Was it venomous? Genetically altered with some glow-in-the-dark gene? Tainted with radioactive materials?

'It's an evergreen shrub', Sherlock said with determined accuracy. '_Camellia sinensis_, John. An exotic shrub with white flowers and glossy leaves. It belongs in a garden. It's not... _dangerous_.' It was just like he had read John's mind. But, yeah, he was Sherlock Holmes, after all.

'What's it doing here?'

'It's for a case.'

It wasn't that bad, John recognised. Of all the times Sherlock had used the excuse "it's for a case" this wasn't definitely one of the worst. The plant was a nice counterpoint to the stuffy atmosphere of the flat.

'It's not bad... Is it staying here?' John asked, as he headed towards the kitchen. Sherlock smirked.

'Not for long. It's evidence on a smuggling case. Lestrade needs to collect it.'

'Smugglers? Is that plant rare, then?'

Sherlock shook his head in mock disappointment. 'As always you see but you do not observe, John... No, it's not the plant that the smugglers are after, it was the jewellery hidden in the soil, inside the pot.'

'Oh, nice...' John appreciated, as he got the tea ready in two mugs. 'And the smugglers? You caught the for Lestrade, then?'

'Not yet, about to. I intend to catch them read-handed in a warehouse by the docks tonight. Lestrade reluctantly agreed to allow me to step in and he'll provide backup.'

'Oh, really? How did you manage to convince him?'

'Easy, I haven't told him where the warehouse is located. I'll phone him from there.'

John pretended to frown like one would to a stubborn child, but there was a light in his cobalt blue eyes now. 'You know I'll stop you from going there alone, Sherlock', he counterpointed in his best Army Captain's voice.

'I intend to go with good company, John, don't be an idiot', Sherlock answered with a similar smile. 'Care to join me, John?'

_You took your time in asking me_, John thought. 'Don't mind if I do', he said calmly, while handing one of the tea cups to the detective, and then taking the armchair opposite his. 'Want to fill me in on the case?'

Sherlock nodded as he sipped the cup for a second, looking relaxed. Maybe it was the fact that the case was about to end, and the consulting detective had beaten yet another criminal gang of London, or the presence of his old flatmate and best friend. It most certainly seemed like old times for the both of them, though Sherlock would be too reticent to voice this feeling, a useless emotion as it was. John Watson still lived and worked as a Doctor in London, and they talked briefly most every day, but their lives were now very different from the way it had been before Sherlock's "departure" for over two years. A lot of things had gone back to the way they were – the companionship had been automatic and felt natural, one overcome the initial conflict of the return that is. It had become obvious that both of them had changed in the time apart. Mostly John had to cater to another life he had built meanwhile as he struggled to not let go of the previous life, with his friendship to a crazy genius detective, that still made his heart race and feel purposeful.

'You are my blogger, after all', Sherlock said, as he started to introduce the evergreen plant's case. 'Though I'm not sure you'll want to record this case, John. It's a Two. Or a Three. At the most. Definitely not a Four.'

John nodded. 'Something in it caught your attention. What did Lestrade say about it when he handed it over to you?'

'He said: "where's John?" I told him didn't need you.'

'Cheers!'

'He tried to blackmail me into calling you in order to give me the case, John.' There was a sweetness in his green eyes as he stared honestly back at John, as if stating with his eyes a different story from his cold detached words. As many other times before, John chose to believe those eyes instead. He trusted Sherlock, and was ready to accept the cold façade that he had created all his life around his feelings, the ones that he forced out of his detective processes, the ones he felt tainted his best assets.

'Should I tell Lestrade you followed up on your part and called me over?' John asked, sipping his tea.

'Better not, he'd just get smug. He'll see you later today at the warehouse anyway.'

'He'll be worried you might have gone alone and in bigger danger, Sherlock.'

'I see, if something happened to me Scotland Yard would be lost... again.'

'You know he's your friend, Sherlock, it's more than...'

The detective looked disgusted as he interrupted: '_Feeling_, John? That hardly will help Lestrade find the smugglers.'

'I guess not', John chose to let it pass, as he lowered his gaze to the lit fireplace. It _feelings_ were so terrible, then why had Sherlock lit the fireplace in 221B? The days had been becoming steadily colder, autumn was settling in. Sherlock's habit had never been to lit the fireplace early, it had always been John's suggestion to do it when they shared the flat. The warmth from the burning logs always appeased the grumpy joints of his frail shoulder and made him feel better after a long working day.

Today the fireplace was lit. Sherlock had done it for John.

_Feeling_. He'd never admit it though.

'Lestrade was working on a series of low profile heists on small jewelleries across London. The methods used seem to connect them all together. Somehow a few of the stolen pieces were being located in Wales, to be resold. In order to arrest and prosecute the thieves, they need to catch the smugglers that pushed the jewels off London as well. Lestrade couldn't figure out how they did it, how they chose their targets, or how they smuggled the goods out of London.'

'That's when he gave you the case files.'

Sherlock nodded. 'And I figured it under three minutes.'

'Three minutes?' John repeated, raising his eyebrows. 'You're slipping, it was a Three after all.' He smiled, giving away the tease.

'Might have been a Four, john', Sherlock admitted with a vague dismissing gesture in the air. 'And the forensic team had taken dreadful pictures of the stolen jewellery shops. I suspect they were taught their jobs by Anderson.'

'Come on, Sherlock, Anderson is not that bad. He defends you now...'

'Took him long enough.' John disguised a giggle with a cough, with little success. Again the green eyes said differently.

_Maybe Sherlock really changed_, John thought. _After all, Anderson...?_

**_._**

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.

A/N: I wonder if it's too evil to have Sherlock and John drinking hot tea (with scorched tea leaves) in front of an innocent stranded tea plant; I think Sherlock saw the noir humour, he was suspiciously smirking; I wonder if John...? - okay, I won't do more A/Ns. Thanks for dropping by. (csf)


	2. The crime scene

_**Camellia sinensis**_

_**.**_

Sherlock put his tea mug down and slowly, almost reverentially, he got up and walked over to his violin, ready to make the best of their waiting time. John was lying back on the worn out tapestry of his armchair, leaning slightly towards the fireplace. Close behind him in the mantelpiece was the skull. They were both used to his rants about the cases, to the monologue rhythmic melodies of the violin, to his strange habits. The only two entities who had ever embraced Sherlock for who he was on a whole and only one of them was forced into its position there. The other one gave him a confident smile, admiring even, as Sherlock raised his bow to the violin.

The melodic chanting of the violin was soon interrupted by the cold electronic tone of Sherlock's phone. Reluctantly he out the music instrument down and took the call.

'Lestrade. It's still early... Great, just in time too. Meet you at the crime scene.' He hung up with the indecent smile of a cat on a hot tile roof. 'Lestrade got another jewellery shop broken into. Seems the same method.'

John was up and ready to go with him before he had finished speaking.

As it turned out, the jewellery shop wasn't far off Baker Street and they headed on foot.

In little over a quarter on an hour they were approaching a tapped off segment of the street, right outside an expensive looking jewellery shop window. The shop's door was open but the lights inside were off, as the police investigators stepped about at the light on hand torches for now. Only the intermittent blue lights of the police car nearby flashed across the interior, too fast for John to keep track of what happened there.

Sherlock seemed more familiarised with the scene, as they approached Lestrade, talking on his phone by the police tape. As soon as he recognised Sherlock he gestured a plead for him to wait a second. That didn't stop the DI from looking carefully behind the consulting detective and actually acting relieved as he recognised John Watson trailling faithfully behind.

'This is it, boys', Detective Inspector Lestrade greeted their arrival, as soon as he ended the call. 'Hello, John, long time...'

John smiled politely. 'Hello, Greg, nice to see you. Everything alright?'

'Yeah, fine.'

'It's not fine', Sherlock stated immediately. 'His kids, probably his eldest daughter actually, never wants to do her homework. She tells him she'll do it but even Lestrade knows she's just chatting on the web with her friends all the time.'

'Sherlock.' John stated calmly his friend's name. It was a warning, though.

'It's okay, John. He's disturbingly accurate once again...' he sighed. 'My daughter took the divorce the hard way. I need to be patient. How did you know it was her, Sherlock?'

'It wasn't work, or you wouldn't have left your colleagues, and it was a priority because you made me wait. Which, by the way, John should agree with me, is impolite of you.' John glanced him in confusion. 'Your priorities are good friends and family, Lestrade, family was most probable given the time and your tired expression. Since you divorced your cheating wife it wasn't likely you'd have a caring expression when talking to her, so more likely your kids. The hour is late for the youngest so the oldest was the best shot. Given her age and that she assuredly types with more fingers than John – that's only two by the way – the rest was easy.'

'Right', Lestrade said tiredly. 'And the case, then? John, as he told you about it?' John nodded briefly. 'All of it?' Lestrade suspected not.

'The important parts', Sherlock defended. 'The rest he can easily guess.'

'He's not necessarily a detective, Sherlock, no matter how long he's been around you in the past.'

'He's capable and possibly better than most of Scotland Yard's lot.'

John's cobalt blue eyes widened to the statement. It had been quite complementary... Sherlock's style wise.

Sherlock nudged him on the side, urging him to talk. John's cheeks went slightly red.

'Well, it's an expensive part of London, with good security and good safety track record for what I can see', John started hesitantly.

'Go on, John.'

'You know, this is usually your thing. The _only_ consulting detective, remember?'

'You'll do fine, John', he assured dismissively, frowning at the detective inspector as if he was putting John off.

'The way I see it, the jewellery thieves are getting either overconfident to come here or they have very particular tastes that could only be satisfied in this particular location. The Yard should check their merchandise list. Particular tastes often mean particular clients, once the goods are smuggled out, so that can help convict the ring leaders.'

Greg Lestrade nodded. 'Good to have you guys back', he stated at last, pulling up the tape to let them in.

Sherlock pushed in first, noticing: 'You're in good form tonight, John, why don't you walk us through the crime scene as well?'

'Because I'm a doctor and there's no body?' John smiled back. 'Or because I don't know how to differentiate 243 types of tobacco ash?'

'I'll walk you through the details, John.'

'You two have a bet going on, don't you?' John's eyes narrowed.

Lestrade tried to deny it but Sherlock offered: 'I'll give you half if I win.'

'Deal.'

In two more minutes they were on the centre of the store, the electric lights were finally on. All the main glass display cases were broken but the majority of the pieces had stayed behind.

'Hm...' John stated hesitantly. 'Hm.' Lestrade smiled.

'John?'

He took a deep breath. 'Two guys only. One at the door, another to get the goods. They had to work fast. Smashed everything to disguise their real interest after they pocketed it. Then they left by car or even walking. I guess there'll be cctv footage.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Usually just the pair of thieves. They disable the alarm electronically, jam the door open, and do their business fast.'

'No one ever walked the street while it occurred? That's very, very lucky, Greg.'

'Just timing and audacity', Sherlock dismissed. 'What can you tell us about the thieves, John?'

The doctor looked around again. 'Oh', he finally said, sheepishly. 'I see. _Camellia sinensis_.' Sherlock nodded. Greg looked from one to the other, blank. 'There', John pointed to a corner, 'a strand of the centre of a flower. Sherlock is sure it's _Camellia sinensis_, Greg.'

'They work at a plant nursery? Or they passed that plant on their way here?'

'No. Sherlock already figured that one out. That's how they smuggle the jewellery, in truck load shipments of the plant.'

'It's a plant. How did you trace it from... _that_?' the DI pointed the innocent looking yellowish strand on the floor.

Sherlock explained: 'Already traced the evidence from the last scene. Its species and variety, the lack of synthesised chemicals in it says it's organic, so most likely it's intended for consumption purposes.'

'Consumption?' Greg repeated.

John rolled his eyes. '_Camellia sinensis_. We drink its fermented leaves and call it "tea". It's a tea plant, Greg.'

Sherlock added: 'There was also trace amounts of compost on the shoe prints so it's a potted plant. Why would jewellery thieves keep flowering plants in pots? Because it's how they smuggle the stolen jewelleries out of London, right under the police officer's watch.'

John went on: 'If it's for tea, why are they moving the plants still potted? Why not just carry the leaves across the country? There cannot be too many companies doing that on a regular basis.'

Sherlock cued himself in. 'There aren't. I checked.'

'We have a warehouse to go to, Sherlock. Before the truck leaves.'

He nodded and with a swift turn Sherlock exited the scene. John followed behind after a curt nod to the DI.

'Sherlock...'

'Yes, John?' he answered as they walked away.

'You didn't take the money. There was never a bet, was there?'

'No.'

'You just wanted me to talk.'

'Yes.'

'Right.' John nodded. 'You owe me fifty pounds.'

'Fine. Just so you know, I would have bet more than double that amount, John.'

Behind Sherlock, John smiled softly at the compliment.

_**.**_

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.


	3. Teamwork

_**Camellia sinensis**_

_**.**_

The cab ride to the warehouse took them across London. John took those minutes to seat back and relax his exhausted, overworked body into a state of calmness. Years of experience had taught him the best position to seat in when a gun was pressed into his lower back, stuck on his belt, so it wasn't half uncomfortable. At his side, Sherlock was completely immobile, in his usual thinking pose. Probably visiting his huge mind palace, that now, years later after he had told John about it, had probably been added extra floors, basement, garage, gardens, and an extra vacation palace on the side, as far as John could tell. As always, it was useless to try to push Sherlock off his mind palace until he was ready to talk back so John took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, trying to preserve his energy for later on.

'John?'

The ex-soldier and doctor was startled and he looked back at Sherlock, whose colour-shifting eyes had almost a steely grey tinge to them at the electric night lights.

'What is it, Sherlock?'

'Lestrade insisted I'd call you on this case, John.'

'You told me that.'

'I wasn't going to.'

'I noticed... May I ask why?' John asked back.

Sherlock tilted his head sideways slightly, as if he expected a different reaction from John. _Feelings_, Sherlock sometimes misunderstands them.

'You're not angry.'

John agreed. 'I'm not. I'm thankful you changed your mind.'

'You should be angry. You had every reason to be here. You're invaluable. I'll probably need you. I also wanted to keep you safe. _Feelings_. It's hateful, really.'

John smiled, one of his innocent childlike smiles that always seemed so out of place in the soldier who lived the war, in the doctor who dwelled in illness, but that identified John's core so accurately. 'Thanks, Sherlock, but I prefer to chose for myself.'

Sherlock nodded, as if his thought process had been verified. Then he told the cab driver that was enough, they'd exit there. Still a few blocks away from the warehouse, as a precaution.

_We have some of our best conversations in cabs_, John mused. Funny, that habit of theirs, to do that in front of strangers and confined to back seats of vehicles...

The night air was cold and dark clouds hung over the city as Sherlock and John made their way to the warehouse. The building looked eerily silent as the bright lights erupted from the windows showing clearly that there were people inside.

'We need to catch them in the act, John', Sherlock whispered curtly.

They approached one of the windows to the side of the building silently in furtive and cautious steps. John still had his gun with him but Sherlock was unarmed – as unarmed as a man with a giant brain and a giant ego could ever be.

'You could have given Lestrade the address already', John confided as he peeked inside.

Three men loading a truck with _Camellia sinensis_ plants. The truck motor was running, showing that they were eager to leave.

'I thought we had more time', Sherlock admitted.

'We need to stop them.'

'They are dangerous. They killed a security guard in their second jewellery shop.'

'_Now_ you're telling me that?' John hissed.

'Would it have stopped you from coming?'

'No, but it changes my plan.'

'_Your plan_, Captain Watson' this is my case, John. My plan', Sherlock deemed.

John rolled his eyes. 'Does your plan include stalling the engine of the truck so they can't take it on the road?'

'Yes.'

'And pointing a gun at them and telling them they are under arrest?'

'Yes, of course it does.'

'Then it's both our plan, Sherlock, don't get worked up. Besides, this is a Three, right? A Three is a good excuse to let me have some fun.' John took out his gun from his belt and hand it over to Sherlock. 'Call Lestrade and tell him to get his sorry butt out here fast and then go scare the pants off the lot of them while I take out the truck's engine.'

'John?' Sherlock seemed sincerely frightened for a second and actually grabbed John by his good shoulder.

'Remember, it's just a Three, Sherlock, you can let me have some fun.'

'I don't want you to get hurt for a Three, John.' The smaller man raised an eyebrow. 'Don't be thick, I don't want you to get hurt at all.'

'I won't if you do your part', Captain Watson said with a confident smile and jerked to his feet, rushing to the back door.

Sherlock took his phone out of the pocket with haste.

* * *

John Watson was not a light man. His small stature gave him a boyish appearance but his built was compact. Years had passed since his Army days but with personal pride he had always kept a minimal response of his body to exercise. Unnoticed to the people who viewed the small blond placid man he still had some muscle underneath the comfortable jumpers, giving him speed as he run across the shadowy areas of the warehouse. He also had flexibility, a skill that had often compensated him of his smaller size. So has he ran, John was managing to make his steps on the cement floor virtually silent. A gift of furtiveness was allowing him to make his way to the truck fast, as the last plants were being carried in.

John had planned to enter the cabin booth, but he realised now that there wasn't enough time to get in, work the wires from under the dashboard and get out without getting caught, and Lestrade's backup was still far from the warehouse.

He cursed mutedly as he threw himself on the floor and glided under the truck with ease.

'Evening!' Sherlock's deep voice projected itself across the warehouse, startling everyone in there. 'Oh, just give up, the police is on its way, I have a gun to keep you here, and by now everyone knows about the stolen jewellery being smuggled out of the country.'

The smile on the consulting detective was both victorious and genuinely exhilarated. Even if it had been just a Three. He really didn't expect the men to give him a fight. Two of them had been handling one of the potted plants, their hands in plain view (one ex-convict of theft, belonged to two gangs in prison, recently released for good behaviour, _ironic_, long term relationship, one kid; and one hard time thief, no, make it murderer, allergic to nuts, has a dog, foreign descent), the third one stood alone in the truck's loading area (recently divorced, heavy smoker, chronic illness undiagnosed).

'Who are you?' the third man yelled back, too calmly for Sherlock's liking. Like he was stalling for time...

Well, that suited Sherlock just fine; he was stalling for time too.

'I'm Sherlock Holmes.'

'He's that bloke from the news!'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, he kept hearing that.

The man jumped from the loading deck of the truck to the floor. Sherlock gripped the gun tighter. Any sign of foul play, he'd shoot. John was there. No time to analyse the puzzle, understand the unexpected actions of the head of the group.

'So, you got me, Mr Holmes. Clever of you. I wonder what gave us away.' He disguised a glance at his watch.

'You', Sherlock ordered the first man, 'grab one of the ropes and tie your murderous friend.'

The first man glanced at the second like he had lost his nerve. Sherlock Holmes had figured out who had killed the security guard just by looking at them. The first man choose to obey promptly.

The leader smiled, too willing, but he wouldn't move.

_Wasting time. Staying by the truck, had glanced at watch. Time was running out. External input. Conclusion? _Bomb_._

Before Sherlock could react a fast movement of a rushing ex-soldier and doctor sprinted from under the truck straight at him, and then knocked him over to the ground in under a second. As they hit the ground a small explosive device created a massive shift of hot air, thundering noise and debris shooting through the air. Not that Sherlock could analyse the instantaneous events properly. John had crashed on the floor on top of him, hurdling over his friend, covering his upper torso and head with his own back, and John's strong arms pinned Sherlock into the submission of his forced shelter. As he lay there, he heard a muffled gasp from John, either from surprise or pain.

'John!' he shouted the other man's name as he wrestled his friend over to the ground, effectively changing positions.

'Sher- Sherlock, the explosion is over, let go of me!'

'Are you okay? You're arguing, you're okay, are you okay, really?' John nodded briefly. 'The guy is getting away!' he pointed over at the man maniacally trying to turn on the engine.

Sherlock handed John the gun. John took it and in a swift movement he aimed it steadily at the opposite direction and fired it. The bullet hit the electronic door of the warehouse, smashing its mechanism and crashing down the door, closing them in.

'Next shot he hits you', Sherlock warned the criminal freezing at the wheel and slowly raising his arms in true defeat.

_**.**_

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.


	4. The client

_**Camellia sinensis**_

_**.**_

'They were thieves, then they murdered a security guard, there was a smuggling ring, and now they had a bomb ready to go off. This was a colourful lot', DI Lestrade remarked.

Sherlock nodded, watching absentmindedly a police officer escorting the last man out of the warehouse by the back door. Several police cars littered the outside walls with blue intermittent flashes and an ambulance was stationed out as well.

'I presume they all met while in prison. Each with their particular set of skills', noted Sherlock.

'One of them was a bomber.'

'Took me a while to figure that one out', he admitted, losing his gaze over at where John was insisting he didn't need inspection by the paramedics. The cut on his arm from the explosion's debris was shallow.

'Well, that's it', said Greg. 'My guys are taking the plants out of the soil to extract the jewellery, you caught the criminals, I'll write the reports, it's done.'

'I know it's not done, Lestrade.'

The DI pressed his lips thin. 'Figured I wouldn't manage to drive you away. Still had to try, tough.'

'John is fine, he can come with me.'

'To fake deliver the stolen jewellery and a bunch of organic tea shrubs to the client.'

'It's the best way to catch him, Lestrade.'

'Yeah, I know...' The DI hesitated. 'But I can't let you guys go alone. Figure three people can fit in the head of that truck?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Fine...'

'Let's go get John before he goes all Army Doctor on those paramedics.'

Sherlock nodded at once, though he suspected it was already late. In fact, as Sherlock and Lestrade walked over, the short blond man with his hair in disarray in a boyish style was stiffly serious, scolding the pair of paramedics about their storing and record procedures, and they stood there respectfully listening to his every word.

'And never, ever!, mix different sizes IV needles on the same drawer! If you need to place an IV on a small child that is having a seizure you won't have time to rummage the drawer to find the right one, and good luck if you think you can insert one of the bigger needles! It would be painful malpractice and...'

'John.'

Sherlock's calm deep voice broke the speech immediately. Proudly, the ex-army doctor turned to his friends and replied, absolutely calm:

'Sherlock, Greg. All ready then?'

The DI assured: 'Just waiting for you, mate.'

'Well, I think I made my point here', John said, suddenly much less self-assured. He really didn't mean to rant like that.

'Yes, Doctor Watson!' the paramedics assured him at once. Evidently the rant had paid off.

Sherlock was smirking, as he asked softly: 'Feeling like going on a truck field trip across England, John?'

Lestrade explained about the client and posing as the three smugglers at their destination. 'It's a long-shot', the DI concluded, 'it'll only work if the client doesn't personally know the smugglers, but...'

'...it's worth the try', Sherlock ended.

'To do this we'll need to leave at once in order to keep the schedule.'

John nodded slowly. 'Fine. First I'll have to go back under the truck, though. I've done it some injustice to keep it here...'

As John walked over to the truck, Lestrade kept Sherlock behind. 'Told you to bring him tonight, Sherlock.'

The detective evaded the conversation. He went over to the truck, opened the cabin door and climbed in, taking a seat at the wheel. There was a map at the door. Northern England only. Some cash and a stale sandwich. Clearly the third man and leader planned to go slow and make stops along the way. Loaded truck, partially blown up warehouse ruining some of the strongest evidence, and one last road trip, carrying the most important stolen goods. A smuggling case that had already cost a man's life, and now an undercover job to catch the client that paid for all of it.

John appeared at the door, requesting: 'Turn the engine on, Sherlock.'

'It works', the detective replied, with a tinge of excitement. Then his eyes fell on the gas tank meter. It was only half-full. 'We're not going to Wales.'

'Not Wales? Where then?'

'Not sure. But they weren't heading to Wales, john, not enough gas.'

'Maybe they planned on getting more on the way.'

'Not enough money.'

'Then why have money on the truck?'

'Not enough food.'

'Alright... So, we don't know where we're going. We're just driving till the gas runs out?' John protested with sarcasm.

Greg Lestrade approached them at last, sensing something was off. 'What's wrong?'

'It's not Wales, Greg.'

'Where then?'

'We don't know.'

'Sherlock doesn't know?!' the DI was stunned and upset.

'That's hardly fair, Greg...'

'Yeah, but he's... _Sherlock!_'

At that moment the closed circuit's radio on the dashboard panel biped. Greg pushed himself into the cabin and immediately took the radio. 'Hello?' he said, wondering if he'd get away with impersonating the smuggler's leader. Sherlock's accent was too correct for the job anyway.

«Enders, have you got the cargo? Over.»

'Cargo acquired. Over.'

«Great. Remember the money on the line. Over.»

'Confirm place and time. Over', Lestrade said, biting his lip. Both Sherlock and John appeared to be holding their breathes as well.

«Leeds City Market at closing time. Be there. Over.»

A metallic sound signalled the end of the conversation and all three of them focused on breathing normally again.

'Road trip', Greg Lestrade murmured under his breath. Road trip with a sociopathic Consulting Detective and an ex-Army Doctor; what could possibly go wrong?

Last minute preparations done, Greg took the wheel, wondering if he wasn't too tired to pull an all-nighter on the road. Scotland Yard had been responsible for teaching him the basics of driving a heavy vehicle with load. The scheme had been his idea as much as Sherlock's and he couldn't really blame the other two for just coming along for the ride.

'Stop it', Sherlock said briskly. 'You could have just asked, Lestrade.'

'What?'

'I know how to drive a truck, I learnt it a few years ago actually, I might have been bored, I deleted the reason. And John has driven medic trucks in Afghanistan, obviously, so he's good to take the wheel as well.'

'Really?'

'You and John will need to sleep some, so we should take three hours shifts before we get there.'

Greg nodded. For once he started believing they could pull it off.

_**.**_

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.


	5. The road

_A/N: I've been taking my time to update this story. It's meant to be light-hearted and short (max. 10 chapters) with quirky story direction twists that good old fashion common sense would disapprove of. John had his moment to shine, Greg is trying to do the same, Sherlock will steal the lead towards the end. As always, just going about it for fun and experimentation. -cfs_

* * *

_**Camellia sinensis**_

.

Greg didn't usually work this closely with Sherlock and John. Normally he was involved in the investigative part or called after the conclusion to the case. The action part was something that seemed to suit Sherlock and John together alone and soon the DI had come to find it expectable. He now realised he might have had some misconceptions about the double. John was indeed a great backup for Sherlock, but he had quite a mind of his own, hidden under a usually quiet and placid demeanour. As for Sherlock, the normally aloof and distant detective was anything but, when it came to his blogger, watching his back with earnest.

No matter the friendship of the last years, Greg felt that he was going blind on this tight-knit team of detective and blogger. And that he was about to get to know them in a way that had never happened before.

'I mean, we know how Sherlock is but you really should get some sleep, John, you look exhausted.' Greg couldn't help but act fatherly to the two younger men sometimes.

'I'll be fine', the man sitting at the other end of the cabin assured him. 'I'm a doctor, I'm used to doing long shifts with little sleep.'

'Yeah, but you don't need to. You can grab some hours' sleep before we get there.'

John just shrugged, he was already engaged in texting Mary. Greg would assume, though, that he probably wasn't being completely thorough in telling her the night's events. Not wanting to worry her...

Silence fell on the three men, as if they didn't know how to go about a night stuck together in a truck road trip. Perhaps they didn't. Greg and John met at the pub for a pint on occasion but there was football and alcohol to fuel the easy conversation. None of those topics would engage Sherlock, though. Sherlock and Greg had a pending discussion about Anderson, but not in the early hours of morning, it didn't feel like the place or the time. John and Sherlock talked easily with each other, but to Greg they sometimes sounded borderline crazy. So Greg made conversation the only way he felt right.

'Weird case, isn't it? Bet you already have your mind on the next case, Sherlock. Care to talk us about it?'

Cases. That's where they all met so easily. Each of them hardened in their own way, so the more gruesome or extraordinary, the better. And in true form, Sherlock wouldn't fail to deliver.

'Well, I got an email about secret cult related beheadings in Central Europe. But I turned it down, John not being able to come with.'

'Really?' John looked somewhat shaken. 'Sherlock, Mary would understand.'

'I know', he assured calmly.

'But you've been in Central Europe before, right? Dismantling Moriarty's network. Was that why you needed me? Is it dangerous out there for you?' John asked protectively.

Sherlock glanced him with a superior look that didn't quite catch his green eyes and assured him. 'Danger hardly stops me, John. Nevertheless, I'm feeling more like London these days.'

Greg intervened: 'Any other cases, Sherlock?'

'None above a Six, no.'

'Well, this was a Three, remember?' John recalled.

'I may need to revise that.'

At the wheel Greg felt the silence fall again. 'So, Sherlock, about Anderson...'

Anderson was the topic of a lengthy discussion with little conclusions. The DI could feel Sherlock warming up to the forensic specialist, but he'd never admit it.

'John's asleep at last', Greg realized suddenly.

Sherlock nodded quietly. 'I'll take the middle shift, Greg. He can take the last shift.'

'Can you make it awake all this hours?'

'I don't usually need much sleep. And John... he never sleeps very well, it'll do him good.'

'You are sounding all nice, Sherlock.' There was a calm content in Greg's voice. He cared for that crazy genius for a long time, given him cases to keep his sanity even at the risk of his own career, but he had never seen Sherlock find equilibrium in his life has he had after meeting John and allowing him to be his close friend. Between the two men there was an understanding that Greg didn't have with Sherlock, even if he knew the detective for much longer. Sherlock and John appeared to be contrasting opposites, yet it was in a vast common ground that they had become so close.

'John has earned a good night sleep', Sherlock stated fondly. Greg couldn't disagree.

'Do you think he'll want to blog about this case?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Probably. Still you can hardly take his writings to the letter.'

Greg glanced at Sherlock, not following. 'He doesn't _lie_, does he? What he writes is essentially what you guys give me in the reports and what I see for myself, Sherlock.'

Sherlock started sounding all dismissive now. 'John skids through the surface sometimes. More so when he's done well. It's all British. "Then we fought the bad guy", John writes, but he fails to mention that the bad guy is almost two feet taller and wider than him, that John himself has a couple of impressive moves for a doctor, and that in the end I had to drag him out of there before he can finish checking if he really broke the man's arm in two places and bandage the wounds there. John is... a contradiction in his best days.'

'And in his bad days?' Greg returned immediately with a fun expression.

'He won't tell me', Sherlock answered cryptically. _"I had bad bays"_ John confided once, before a visit to meet The Woman. Sherlock had found himself otherwise engaged and failed to ask for further clarification. One that John had since denied (he wouldn't apologise for the headlock either).

'Plenty of time to get there', Greg said after a while. 'The voice on the radio told Enders to meet him at the market's closing time.'

'We should get there before that time. Make sure we have enough time to change location.'

'Why? Sherlock, I've arranged for Leeds' police force backup there already.'

'Oh, trust me, Enders knew he was going to meet a dangerous client. He was clearing his tracks, ready for a double-cross. We need to assume that this client is smarter than he appears. He's a silent mastermind with reasonable experience and vast contacts, who knows exactly which items he wants stolen, how to transport them, and who he can sell them to. So don't underestimate him, Greg.'

'Then I should have brought more of my guys along.'

'No need, I'm the best chance you've got of catching him and I'm already here.'

Greg sighed. _That's Sherlock being Sherlock._

'Look, Sherlock, don't forget this is _my plan_.'

The consulting detective rolled his eyes. What was it with everyone that they all wanted to direct "the plan"? Well, everyone that counted, anyway. In the end it'd always be Sherlock's plan, and everyone there instinctively knew it.

'My turn to take the wheel, Greg. Try and get some sleep too.'

Greg pulled the truck over and they proceeded to change seats. With all the commotion John woke up, slightly startled. 'Mary?'

'No, lover boy', Greg teased him, 'just us.'

'Was I talking in my sleep?' the doctor worried through squinting sleepy eyes.

'Nooo...' The DI threw him a smug wink. John ignored him and just ran his hand through his hair and face.

'I can take the wheel then', he volunteered, instantly more awake.

Sherlock refused: 'My turn, John.'

'You can't drive a truck, Sherlock.'

'Of course I can.'

'Where did you learn?'

'I can't remember.'

'Where did you drive before?'

'I deleted that information.'

'You can't drive a truck, Sherlock. Not until you can answer me. Go look in your mental recycling bin or something. I'll take the wheel.' John's voice was quiet but decided. 'Mary needs a husband. I intend to get out of this alive so she won't have to go through another wedding planning.'

Sherlock glared at him before letting him take the wheel. 'Where did you drive a truck last, John?' he demanded to know.

John's face turned to stone. 'Helmand, about five years ago. Good enough for you, Sherlock?'

The consulting detective nodded, a bit resentful. 'Why didn't I drive a truck those two years away from you?'

'Because you didn't have enough hindsight, Sherlock', John started, turning the engine on, 'and because you were out there saving the world and keeping your friend's safe.'

Sherlock froze, stunned, then looked at John truly surprised with the admiration and sweetness in John's voice. That wasn't something that either of them usually spoke out loud.

Greg shook himself in the seat at the furthest window. 'Okay, guys, night y'all. Talk away, I'll sleep no matter what.'

Back on the road, John realized: 'You haven't slept yet, Sherlock.'

'You know me, I'll be fine, John.'

'Just don't let me keep you awake if you're sleepy.'

'You did promise to spend the night with me, John.'

The doctor took a deep breath. 'And _that's_ where all those jokes came from. I promised to spend the night at Baker Street, yes. But I assumed part of it would include me actually sleeping.'

'Sleeping is boring.'

John grew a wide smile. 'Yes it is, Sherlock. Yes it is.'

_**.**_

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.


	6. The disguises

_**Camellia sinensis**_

.

The miles of road went on and on for hours, swallowed under the truck's wheels at a constant pace, till they finally reached the outskirts of the city. Aware that Sherlock anticipated a sudden change of location that would leave them without police force backup, and before it all got out of hand, the Detective Inspector tried to enforce a sensible plan. Weighting his chances he went out for the most sensible half of the partnership first.

John was sitting by the parked truck at the gas station under the morning pale sun. With paper cup coffee and leaning against one of the front wheels, his gaze was somewhat distant when Greg approached him.

'We need to disguise you for this, John. You know, change your identity for the contact with the client. Can't have him tipped off when he first sees you two...' Greg directed.

John shook his head quietly. 'It's you both that should get in. I can back you up with my Browning.'

'No, I'm doing the backup, you're going in with Sherlock.'

'Why?'

Okay, Greg recognized that for what it was; active defiance, right there.

'Because I'm the police officer here, and that's how you do an arrest. I'm tired of writing fortuitous gunshots from anonymous shooters that save the day into my reports, John.'

John Watson crossed his arms in front of him. Sign number One of brewing temper explosion. Greg knew about those. Rare as mirages but extremely effective. It was very hard to contradict John when he was in Army Captain's mode.

'Besides', Greg insisted, 'you're the only person I've ever known that could actually work alongside Sherlock.'

'We're just going in and inducing the client to incriminate himself out loud, Greg. I'm not even sure Sherlock's presence is required, anyone at the Yard could pull that one off.'

'Oi! Those are my men you are talking about!'

'You and Sherlock can go in and...' John started.

'No, you and Sherlock will and...' Greg interrupted.

'Then who's doing the backup?'

'I am!'

'We should settle this like in my old days. We get a few empty bottles in a row and the one that shoots the most in the first try gets to choose.'

'Very funny, Captain Watson, but I heard about your skills.'

'Yes, and because of them I should be the one on the outside!' John was dangerously approaching maximum level before losing his temper entirely.

'Look, John...' Greg tried to start once again. He looked around to steady himself and found Sherlock nearby, who was careful to look otherwise engaged checking the cargo at the back of the truck. 'John, you can just mess your hair somewhat to make it less military, and... Obviously not just take off your coat because a comfortable jumper is anything but gangster style, we just need to get you another... Or maybe take off the jumper too... Then another coat, and that's it. You're not as recognisable as Sherlock is, anyway.'

'I need the jumper to hide my gun, Greg.'

'I'll be backing you guys up. And if you really need your gun, we'll just get you... a different jumper.'

John rolled his eyes, tired. Temper explosion averted with success.

'Make it a warm jumper too. It's cold out there.'

Greg nodded with a suppressed sigh. It was just like dealing with children, those two. And next was Sherlock.

Greg braced himself and walked over.

He'd take a deep breath before starting: 'Sherlock, we're going to have to find you some sort of disguise. You are too recognisable. Even this client will know who you are.'

Greg felt like he had just dropped a bomb. Expecting explosion in three. Two. One.

'Alright.'

'Wait. What? You're agreeing with me?'

Sherlock frowned. 'I thought you wanted me to agree, Greg. Which, by the way, I do.'

'You're not refusing?'

'Please don't be insistent. John and I do it all the time.'

'Really?... Wait, you and John do what?'

'Dress up.'

'Wait, you know how that sounds, don't you?' Greg was all but snorting laughter now.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, very serious. 'If you are implying cross-dressing then maybe you'd favour me with talking some sense into John. He refuses straight out. He always says something about broad shoulders and burqas.'

Greg squinted. 'What?'

'Not sure. Just ask him yourself', Sherlock dismissed, suddenly mysterious. 'And how would you propose I disguise myself, then?'

'I don't know, something so that you don't look so much like... yourself. Maybe not take the coat too.'

'What about my coat?' Sherlock complained as a child about to lose his prized possession.

'Looks expensive.'

'Might have been. Can't remember. Deleted it.' He was acting all aloof now. Definitely hit a nerve, recognized Greg.

'Well, it's not the kind of coat a bomber out of prison can afford, Sherlock... When you and John have cases and disguise yourselves for them, do you always complain about leaving the coat behind, or is it just with me?'

'John might have mentioned something along those lines...' was all Sherlock was willing to admit.

'Well, then, we'll need disguises and a plan', Greg settled calmly.

A few more hours would pass before the truck and it's vegetable cargo was coming close to the intended destination. Master plan established, albeit loosely, it was time to find the equipment to transform Sherlock and John in... well, not-Sherlock and not-John.

Fastest and cheapest way to do it seemed to be at a charity shop, and they'd make their way into one soon enough.

'I really don't like this place', muttered Sherlock.

'Why?' Greg found it strange.

'Too many deductions everywhere. Previous owners, so many of them', he was looking around dazed, almost lost.

_Recently divorced - cat-lady – stomach flu – retired to the country – sloppy eater – bus driver – two dogs – one small child – recent travel abroad – Chinese inheritance – middle aged man – mouldy house – one left-_

'Can't you focus for a while?' Greg noticed his words sounded barely confident even to himself.

'Yes, of course', Sherlock replied, unconvincingly. Soon he'd part to meet John, that had wondered off into a further rack of clothes.

Greg sighed as soon as he alone again. Then, concentrating, he turned his mind into the task at hand. He'd still hear the two friends talking to each other.

'Lestrade called _this_ a plan', Sherlock confided.

John snorted. 'A plan?' he repeated with incredulity. 'It's not a plan, it's an agenda. Go in, pretend we have the goods, wait to hear him confirm the sale, _done_. It's hardly a _plan_.'

Greg warned them, from the other side of the shop: 'It's a plan. A simple plan. The police favours simple plans, guys. We're not all dramatic when we have criminals to catch, maybe you should learn from us.'

'Fine!' John called back. 'Still not a "plan", though!'

'So long as it doesn't get you guys shot at, it should be fine, right?' Greg replied, they were just bickering now, as he picked up a weathered leather jacket about John's size. He didn't anticipate the verbal explosion from the other side of the room:

'I never got anyone shot with my plans of action, Greg!'

Greg looked over, confused. John looked livid, fisting his hands tight. _Shit._ His plans of action. Captain Watson's plans of action. Afghanistan.

'I can appreciate that, John. Seriously I didn't mean it like that.'

John diverted his gaze, taking deep breaths. 'Fine, just get me a jacket and let's get this over with.'

Close to him, Sherlock was acting practically invisible, but his green eyes showed that caring light again. Previous owners of the clothes completely forgotten now.

_Silently_. That's how John Watson was trying on a leather jacket in front of the charity shop's mirror, Greg Lestrade categorized. He might still be a bit edgy, from both sleep deprivation and stubbornness, but now at least he was embracing the motorcycle jacket, the scuffled hair and even a pair of not too dark shades.

_Quietly_. That's how Sherlock Holmes came to join them. In jeans, clingy sports sweater (no gun hiding there), the unruly curls complementing the look that made him appear so very young, almost naïve, so far from the Sherlock Holmes trademark look for catching criminals.

Of the two of them, Greg realized immediately, Sherlock was the true actor there. A change of clothes and he embraced his new look. Harmless, compliant, even the usually piercing eyes were subdued for the part, as he checked his reflection in the mirror. John couldn't do it. John was still John underneath the new jacket. Thankfully, John wasn't as recognisable to start with.

'I think this covers it', Sherlock concluded with a smirk. 'There is a client out there to catch and we can't afford to waste time. Oh, and John...?'

'Hm.'

'Greg should get a disguise next time. As we were talking earlier on, he showed interest in disguises and especially in cross-dressing.'

John snorted, finally relaxing somewhat, Sherlock still looked innocent, and Greg demanded: 'That's not what I said exactly, Sherlock! Man, you're terrible at recounting things...'

Sherlock didn't bother replying. He just turned and left the shop first, hiding his smile, he other two followed suit.

_**.**_

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or their previous feats.


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